You Can Go Home Again!

An advantage of taking a class on blogging has been the standing excuse I have had to leave my desk (and work) behind to go in search of subjects about which to write . This was the case early Sunday morning when my wife and I, having stepped out for a coffee, found ourselves deep in the countryside. What began as a brief excursion became a morning-long venture, one that carried us into the western portion of the state. Citing the trip as a chance to view the fall foliage (which is about a week or so away from its peak), we actually used it as an opportunity to enjoy the heat our car produced (a reference readers familiar with my previous post will appreciate). This fact alone gave us a reason to continue driving.

After having driven about fifty miles or so outside the city, we exited the interstate and turned south on a rural state highway. Throughout the remainder of the trip we were treated to an endless view of cornfields. As such, the above photograph represents my homage to life in the American Midwest, an endless expanse of farmlands, corn, and dairy cows.

When I stopped to take this picture, my wife suggested that people would be puzzled by my interest in a seemingly common (and otherwise dull) sight. In fact, a father and son (who I assumed owned the land) used the opportunity to take a break from their morning chores and watch me as I slopped my way through mud taking pictures of their cornfield. I could feel their stares as I made my way back to the car. Climbing in, I assured my wife that stories would be told that evening regarding strange city folk who took pictures of dead corn. Though my ability to appreciate such a sight may seem strange, I attribute it to the years I spent living in the Southwest, an equally vast expanse of empty land.

Though it has been enjoyable in a number of ways, adapting to life in another part of the country has presented certain challenges at times. In the Southwest, we were able to leave home and lose ourselves (quite literally) beneath vast expanses of open sky. There were occasions when, having been dropped off outside of town, I would take my dog and walk for miles without encountering towns or organized settlements. For those who haven’t experienced it, such a trip can be quite humbling.

In the East, tree lines, houses, and buildings combine to limit one’s view of the skyline, and produce occasional feelings of claustrophobia. The ability to leave the city and spend time in the country (a rarity for a graudate student) therefore provides me with the rare opportunity to reclaim the pleasure I felt in the open spaces I left behind. Strange as it may seem, a person can grow homesick staring at cornfields.